


I'll Take It As It Comes (Any Way You Choose To Give It)

by Lokifan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bondage, Caning, Dominant Ignis Scientia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rope Bondage, Submissive Prompto Argentum, Suspension Bondage, unbetad we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18645925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/pseuds/Lokifan
Summary: "Prompto's a good boy, but he will insist on wriggling. He sets himself swinging once again, writhing helplessly in the air, and Ignis sighs. Perhaps a little melodramatically, with a little too much of the world-weary villain, but he does have a blond tied up and gagged in his basement. He feels he deserves it."





	I'll Take It As It Comes (Any Way You Choose To Give It)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a scrap of something I wrote for @sodsta when he kindly gave me the prompt "Ignis/Prompto, suspension bondage". Maybe this'll be the end of the writer's block! Maybe??

Prompto's a good boy, but he will insist on wriggling. He sets himself swinging once again, writhing helplessly in the air, and Ignis sighs. Perhaps a little melodramatically, with a little too much of the world-weary villain, but he does have a blond tied up and gagged in his basement. He feels he deserves it.

“Do _try_ to stay still,” he says.

Prompto makes a muffled protesting sound. His face is turning red, and Ignis isn't entirely sure if the gag and the strain of the position is responsible, or if it's simple embarrassment. He knows Prompto finds it difficult to be so exposed, and now he's dangling from the rafters, bared to Ignis' eyes, wrists and shoulders and thighs and knees wrapped in rope. He can't close his arms or legs. Ignis takes another turn about him, enjoying his arse, the swell of muscle in Prompto's arms as he clutches at his bonds, the thighs held open and the hard cock between. “I know, I know,” Ignis says. “You do try not to move.” He tousles Prompto's hair, the first touch he's allowed either of them in quite a while. “You're improving, certainly.”

He doesn't want to praise Prompto too much yet – wants to delay the always-pleasing effects – but he's not willing to be dishonest. And Prompto does try very hard.

Ignis moves in closer, strokes gloved fingers softly up the inside of Prompto's thighs. It draws a delicious shiver, and Ignis keeps going, soft and slow and methodical. He won't be hurried, even as the muscle tightens under his touch, Prompto huffing and whining through his gag. Prompto's cock is reddening, pre-come seeping from the tip, but Ignis doesn't touch there. He does allow his fingertips to trail close, though, just for the fun of hearing Prompto's groan when Ignis disappoints him once again.

Ignis' own cock is aching in his trousers. He allows himself a few touches through the cloth before he makes himself let go. He has a plan, and if there's one thing Ignis excels at, it's discipline and self-control in the cause of a greater goal.

In this case, the goal of making Prompto cry.

Once Prompto is moaning at every caress, chest heaving at the simple stroke of leather-clad fingers along his skin, Ignis delivers a sharp slap to his thigh. Prompto makes a shocked noise, and Ignis does it again. He grins as he works, slapping one inner thigh then the other. Prompto's pale enough that colour comes up pleasingly quickly, a painful pink glow. Prompto's groaning, trying to close his legs, but of course it's quite impossible. 

Before long, both Prompto's hands are clenched into fists – Ignis can't even see the little rubber ball Prompto's clutching as his safeword – and his eyes clench shut too. Ignis leans in to kiss his lower lip round the ball gag. Prompto's mouth is draw tight from pain, but slowly he begins to relax into it, his lip softening even if he can't really kiss back. 

Now he's fully relaxed, Ignis smacks him again, and gets a full cry.

He draws back. Prompto's eyes open at the flash of blue as he accesses the Armiger, and Ignis smiles at him. He holds out the nipple clamps and cane for Prompto's inspection. Everything in royal black, naturally, with a tinge of Ignis' favoured purple.

Prompto shakes his head, blue eyes anxious, and Ignis cocks his head. “No?” He glances up at Prompto's right hand, which is still clutching the ball.

Prompto stops shaking his head.

“Always up for a challenge, aren't you? And letting us do as we like with you. Good boy.”

He abandons the cane for a moment in order to play with Prompto's nipples. Drawing them hard doesn't take much doing but Ignis lingers over the task, teasing and pinching and stroking. He doesn't just want them hard; he wants Prompto sensitive and shivering. And then crying out as the clamps are attached.

Ignis tugs on the silver chain between them, watching Prompto's face as he yelps. “Marvellous. You're so appealing when you allow me to dress you.” He tugs again.

Then he draws back, and begins caning Prompto's thighs. He's steady, and slow, covering all that pink with a sharper, deeper shade. Before long Prompto's whining, huffing out pained breaths with every stroke. Ignis coos to him, unable to hold back the words. “You're so beautiful like this. Pretty, pretty boy.” He has to raise his voice a little, to keep it clear over the sound of the cane slicing the air and Prompto's rising moans, but he keeps it smooth and steady, wanting Prompto to have something to cling to. “I should've thanked Noctis the first day he brought you back, told him what an excellent choice he'd made. So handsome and so eager to please. Letting me do whatever I want with you. Not that you could very well stop me now, either way...” In fact, Prompto's twitching in his bonds, trying to close his legs. It's an automatic reaction, Ignis can tell, rather than deliberate resistance.

But he's feeling nasty, so he says, “you remain unable to hold still,” and reaches in to punish Prompto: pinching the reddened skin with sharp nails. The pinches are strong and vicious and Prompto's cries grow louder and louder, then wavering. Ignis isn't looking at what he's doing, just pinching and slapping and watching Prompto's face. How it clenches, and his chin wobbles. Ignis jerks on the nipple clamps' chain and Prompto wails, and a few tears escape his scrunched-shut eyes.

“Ssh, ssh,” Ignis soothes. He lets the cane drop in favour of stroking Prompto's hair and shoulders. “There you are. You've been wonderfully good for me. Absolutely perfect.” Prompto blinks open slightly teary eyes, looking as if he doesn't quite believe the words, and Ignis cups his jaw, stroking a thumb over one blond brow. “So very good.”

Prompto can't really smile round the ballgag, but his eyes crinkle.

Ignis lingers long enough for Prompto to relax a little. Just a little; Ignis rather prefers Prompto overwhelmed. Then he removes his gloves, then his shirt – he's rather overheated at this point, and vain enough to enjoy Prompto's widening eyes besides – and draws lube from the air in a flash of blue.

The ropes holding Prompto's legs apart at the knees, cradling his thighs, make it impossible for Prompto to close his legs or resist at all. He's held open for Ignis to play with, and at the thought Ignis can't help reaching for his own cock, just for a moment.

Ignis is extremely tempted to work Prompto's cock, stroke and tease him and make him moan around the gag. But he wants the psychological effect of ignoring all that and immediately preparing Prompto to be fucked. As if that's his purpose. So Ignis simply stands between Prompto's legs, watching his blushing face, as he softly rubs slick over his rim. 

He's gentle as he slides long fingers inside, stroking Prompto open. But he's relentless, refusing to give Prompto a rest, tender and teasing and ever-changing as he works Prompto open. The poor boy is shuddering before long, toes kinking, moaning continually. The flush has worked its way right down Prompto's chest. His face is scarlet, his hair matted by sweat at his temples, drool working its way down his chin. Gloriously wrecked. Ignis finds his prostate and gives it a firm rub, and Prompto yelps, tensing deliciously. Ignis tugs on the nipple clamps and he _yowls_ , back arching.

Ignis is a master of self-control but he's not made of stone. The lube vanishes back into the Armiger and Ignis withdraws his fingers. For a moment he's tempted to just spin Prompto in the ropes, but it wouldn't work, so he manages the few steps to bring himself round to Prompto's back – a short distance that feels endless with his cock painfully hard. He sighs in relief as he releases it, kissing Prompto's back.

He misses being able to watch Prompto's face, but there's a distinct pleasure in knowing that Prompto can't see or control what's happening as Ignis draws him back, rubs the head of his cock against Prompto. Prompto moans, wanting, and Ignis pushes inside.

Prompto's tight around him and sweetly unable to resist him, and it's been so long. Ignis is already painfully wound up, and it takes some doing to keep any kind of rhythm. It's worth it, though, for how Prompto whimpers as he's fucked. Ignis fumbles for Prompto's cock, strokes it as he pulls Prompto back onto his own cock, has him swinging a little in his ropes. The weight of Prompto's cock is satisfying in his hands but the sounds spilling past Prompto's gag are mind-bending. Ignis strokes his other hand over Prompto's inner thighs, enjoying the heat from the beating and how they clench as Ignis fucks him. He delivers a painful scratch and Prompto convulses, his cock jerking in Ignis' grip.

It doesn't take long before Prompto's delivering mush-mouthed pleas, muffled into coherence by the plastic in his mouth, and his breaths are coming a mile a minute. Ignis tugs on the nipple clamps once more, jerking his cock, and Prompto comes, writhing and clenching helplessly on Ignis' cock, overtaken by it all. Wrecking Prompto with sensation, having him bare and sweaty and wailing with it – Ignis muffles his own cry in Prompto's skin, sucking at Prompto's neck as he comes, his vision sparking white.

He blinks back to himself somewhat later, dazed and euphoric. It takes him rather more effort than usual to make himself move, to tuck himself back into his trousers and begin tugging on the ends of knots and releasing Prompto. The urge to stay, stroking Prompto's skin and keeping him hung up for Ignis to touch as he pleases, is difficult to resist. But the sweet, pained cry when Ignis takes the clamps off helps make up for it.

Before long Prompto's down on the ground again, hissing as his bare feet touch the concrete of Ignis' basement floor. 

“Drink this,” Ignis says. “Courtesy of his Highness.”

Prompto's forehead creases. “It's a potion?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I didn't – I mean, I don't wanna be a whiner,” Prompto says.

Ignis raises his eyebrows. “And how do you plan to run with your thighs marked up like that?”

Prompto takes the potion hurriedly.

They leave together, heading for Noct's flat. Ignis will cook for them all (with special attention to Prompto's favourites, tonight) and do his Council reading, and Noct and Prompto can play games and, Ignis thinks optimistically, work on university coursework. And Ignis can indulge his urge to keep an eye on his sub after a scene and ensure he's all right without hovering. It's taken a while for Ignis to work out how to thread that needle; Noct never needs the least bit of reason to go to sleep in his lap, or be fussed over and fed. Prompto's laudable independence has made him a little prickly and surprised when Ignis tried it with him. But this should work.

They settle into the car, and Ignis rather enjoys watching Prompto shift carefully in his seat as he works out if there's lingering pain from their scene.

“Hey, Iggy.”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if... could you show me how you did those ties? Or, like, maybe if there's a book or a MoogleTube video or something. It seemed really complicated but I'd, I'd like to try and learn.”

Ignis glances at him and finds him blushing a little, but wearing the fine edge of a smirk. Ignis' hands clench on the steering wheel as a mental image of Prompto with that expression and a flogger in hand assaults him.

“I'd be more than happy to,” he says. “I imagine we might find a couple of willing test subjects, too.”

“And I could learn about different body shapes and weights,” says Prompto brightly. “Noct – I mean, if it doesn't hurt his back – and then imagine Gladio all...” He makes a formless gesture.

He will imagine that. In fact, Ignis does, all the way back to Noct's.


End file.
